


bathe my skin the darkness within

by VeteranKlaus



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Alec didn't get surgery, Angst, Depression, Hurt Alec, Hurt No Comfort, Re upload because the formatting got fucked up, Spoliers for danny's murderer, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 07:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20287699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeteranKlaus/pseuds/VeteranKlaus
Summary: The waves crash below him, dark and endless, like ink being stirred in a pot. They roar in his ears, and they're unwelcoming, merciless, scrabbling at the foot of the cliffs as if they could climb up and devour him.His job's done. Joe Miller walks free and Sandbrook is finally closed, and it's the best closure he'll get.His heart gives a pang. A painful tug in his chest - they've been getting worse. He's waited too long. If he's going to go out, it's going to be on his own terms.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Begins with Ellie's point of view. Ends with Alec's. Skip to that if that's all you want to see.
> 
> This is sad. I wrote it because I'm sad. That is all

She's blessedly not hungover the next morning, thanks to her rational thinking of not getting utterly wasted when she has work the next day. Ellie wakes up, showers, makes breakfast for Tom and Fred. Tom catches the bus to school, and Beth comes over to come get Fred to babysit. 

"I'll catch you afterwards, then," says Beth with a smile, a gurgling toddler on her hip. Ellie catches one of his flailing hands and shakes it gently, smiling at her son, then she turns to Beth. 

"Of course. Thank you so much for this," she replies, glancing at Fred. Beth waves her off.

"He's a pleasure to watch," she says, watching as Ellie grabs her car keys. She frowns at the television. Beth, too, frowns, turning to watch the news as it takes a sour turn. "Guess you better get going," she states as the news reports a new body on the beach.

"Shit," Ellie curses. Her phone rings. "Yeah. Yeah, I better. Bloody Hell. Hello?" She hurries out of her house, answering the phone - it's not Alec, like she expected - and bringing it to her ear.

"Hey, Ellie. You, uh. You might want to take the day off," says her co-worker. Her brows draw together.

"What? No. I've just seen it on the news - a new body. I'm going to the beach." She struggles to unlock her car and gets in, door thudding closed behind her.

"No, Ellie. Just - just take the day off."

She clicks her seatbelt in. Her heart pounds in anxiety. "Who is it?" She demands. 

"Ellie-"

"I'll be there in five minutes," she says, and then hangs up. And she is. There in record time, she almost forgets to lock her car. She can see the police warding off the press, and she can see the police tape, and the tent covering the body before it's moved. She hurries as fast she can in the sand, ignoring when it gets in her shoes, and she marches up. She's met by Jordan, hands reaching out to her shoulders and blocking her view. 

"Ellie, go home," he insists. 

"Who is it?" She insists. All she can see is a hand. A man's hand. She can't think of who it'd be.

"Ellie, please-

"I swear to God, Jordan, if you don't let me do my job I will kick you in the balls," she snaps, her face pale, her voice cold as the waves. Jordan sighs, conflicted. Then he lets go and lifts up the police tape.

"Just - just take your time. I'm sorry," he says, and her gaze lingers fearfully on him before she continues on with determination.

She kneels by the tent and lifts it back a little to see him.

He's wet. Soaked, dripping. He's sprawled out awkwardly, his hand reaching out to her, and his mouth hanging open, and his eyes are glassy and stare down slightly, and he's pale, and drenched, and still in his work clothes - except for his tie and the one shoe he's missing. 

For a moment, she doesn't know what to do. She can't believe it. Out of all the people who had crossed her mind on the way here, Alec was not one of them. But there he is. 

She gasps when the realisation hits her, and her hands go to her mouth, and she falls back in the sand, her eyes wide. Someone's there, a hand on her shoulder, and when she scrambles to the side to retch in horror, it stays, holding her messy hair from her face.

"Who did that," she rasps on her hands and knees. "Who - who _killed _him?"

"Ellie..." She looks up to look at her co-worker. "There's no sign of a struggle. It... it doesn't look like he was pushed."

"He didn't _jump,_" she says, shaking her head. Her hand shakes underneath her nose as she sits back in the sand. He didn't jump. He didn't. He had no reason to, and he was fine.

_Stuff to do._ A distracted glance. Stuck in his thoughts.

But he was _fine. _Not _suicidal._

She retches again, and nothing comes up. She stands up on shaking legs and looks back at the tent, at his hand sticking out, at his dead eyes. 

#####

She goes to his house, despite everyone telling her not to. There's already a team there, bigger than usual due to Alec's connection with the force. 

"What - what have you found?" She asks as she approaches, and curses the way her voice shakes. She receives a sympathetic glance from the same man who had combed through her house when Joe - Joe did what he did.

"Ellie... maybe you should go home," he says. She swallows and blinks away her emotions and shakes her head.

"Tell me," she demands. 

He sighs, heavy, defeated. His shoulders sag. "No signs of a break-in. The door was left open. We don't - we've found all we can."

"He didn't kill himself," she insists, voice sharp. The man gestures her in.

His house is eerily still, eerily quiet, and perfectly clean, except for his tie, thrown across the back of his couch. She's led to the coffee table, and beneath a paperweight sits three envelopes. One for his daughter, one for his ex-wife, one for her. She can't breathe as she reaches out to pick it up, and her fingers shake as she opens it, and she falls back onto the couch as she reads it.

It's short. There's a crossed out joke of her getting her job back that he stole, replaced by the word _sorry. _

She should have pried when he said he had stuff to do. She knew he was morbid, had known without really knowing that he was depressed, what with his determination to finish Danny's case and not care about whether he died, so long as it was after. 

She still can't believe it. She feels sick.

####

It's a chilly night, tonight. A cool breeze that turns people's noses and cheeks red, nips at whatever exposed skin it can find, and makes people walk a little faster, tuck their hands into their pockets and turn their heads down into their fluffy coat collar. And now, at night, it's only worse. Cold enough, Alec thinks, that in an hour or two there'll be a light, glittering dusting of frost over the grass where he stands now, and on the plants, and trees, and on his windows - on the inside of them, too. He didn't properly close his door when he left; it'll be freezing inside. Not that it matters. No one is there, and there's nothing important to him in there, in that house by the river in which water laps up on his front porch and echoes in his ears as he tries to fall asleep. He won't have the chance to move to a better house. 

He left work early tonight, to the surprise of everyone else. One of the first to leave, actually. Everyone had been tired, nearing the end of their own shifts, and they had been discussing going to the pub. Ellie had tried to convince him to go, but he had refused. _I have things to do tonight, Miller, _he had said, _go have fun._

She had hesitated, and maybe there had been something in his eyes, in his face, or in his tone, and she had scrutinised him with a glint of confusion and suspicion. He had stared right back, until he realised he wasn't really focusing on her. He hadn't been able to focus all day. She must have chalked it up to _Alec being Alec, _though, because she had nodded and said _alright then, sir. I guess - I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then._

_Aye, _he had lied. Then she had returned to her desk to finish up her work, and Alec had logged out of his computer and gone through everything in his office. He had cleaned it all up. Left a note underneath the picture of Daisy he had in there telling them to offer any of his stuff to his daughter, first, and if she didn't want anything, then they could just chuck it in the bin for all he cared. He had stood, and he had taken his glasses of, folded the legs into the frame, and set them into their case in his drawer. He had closed the drawer, then moved to grab his jacket and pull it on. 

_Leaving so soon, sir, _Ellie had commented. Alec had hesitated as if the observation had frozen him to the spot. Curious eyes of his co-workers had turned to him, and he had cleared his throat and nodded. _Stuff to do, _he had repeated, and made for the door with eyes burning on his back. And then he had walked home, and he had sat on his couch and stared out the window. Then he had made his bed, hoovered the house, and he had assured to himself that his will had been seen to a week or two back, and he had written out a letter. One to Daisy. One to Tess. They had been hard. The one to Daisy had been a ramble of I'm sorry and I love you, and everything I own is put to you but you'll need to be patient, darling, because it's being held until you're eighteen, and I'm sorry I won't be there to see you in your first driving lesson, or through your first heartbreak, or your graduation, or if you ever have kids, and when you get married, but I'll always love you and I'll always have supported your decisions. 

The one to Tess was a simple request. Please don't let her hate me. It had been hard to ask, and harder to write the words, hard to request that maybe, maybe she would consider telling Daisy that the rumours about him weren't true. One day. That was all that he put in that letter. 

He had sat there, staring at the letters on his desk for an eternity. Was it sad that all he had to do was write two letters? And he only really cared about writing one. His parents could go screw themselves for all he cared, wherever they were now. He didn't have any friends to write to. 

He considered Ellie. He wasn't sure what their relationship was. It had warmed up throughout the Danny Latimer case, and during the trial and Sandbrook, but he was still hesitant to openly call her a friend. She probably wouldn't like that, he thought. But he wrote her one. He sat at his desk and bounced his leg as he tried to think of what to say. In the end, it was a thanks for what she had done, what with her support and determination during the return of Sandbrook, and for showing him some kindness when he was a cunt to her. And then he tried to end it with a joke that at least she'd get her job that he had stolen, but then he put a line through that and underneath that line he wrote a simple _sorry._

He took off his tie, threw it aside. Left his house and forgot to close the door behind him. The letters were under a paperweight, though, so it was okay. He had gotten a taxi. Requested to go to the _ah, cliffs. Please. _And gave over double the amount for the lift, and didn't care about his change. Then he walked up to the top of the cliffs, and waved at someone who waved to him, and he sat on a bench and watched the water until it got dark, until no one was around. Then he stood, his knees cracking and aching, and he walked along them, gravitating to the edge. 

He had never really liked heights. They made him dizzy and made his head light, and if he looked up while on a height, it made him feel like he was falling, and made his stomach lurch. He didn't like them now, while he stares down at the crashing waves, dark and endless, like ink being stirred around in a pot.

They crash and roar in his ears, deafening like thunder, and they're unwelcome, merciless, scratching at the foot of the cliffs below him as if they tried to climb up to reach him to devour him whole like they did in his nightmares. His job's done. He let Joe Miller walk free, and he has his closure from Sandbrook, and his heart hadn't killed him.

He had forgone the operation. The idea, the possibility of dying on the operation table without seeing the Latimer case through was more terrifying than death, and he knew it would be too late now. He had been afraid that he wouldn't make it up the hill, because it stole his breath and made his heart beat dangerously with exertion. Wouldn't it have been ironic, on his way to kill himself, and his heart gave out on the way? Either way, he knew he would die on that operation table now. It was too late. And if he was going to die, he decided it wouldn't be on a sterile operation table, or on a bathroom floor, or in the precinct due to a weak heart. He would be ready for it. It would be his decision.

He would regret it for Daisy. It was only then, as he stood on the cliffs and thought about his daughter, that he cried for the first time. He wouldn't see her grow old, wouldn't be able to hug her one last time, or kiss her, or tell her he loved her, or see her get married, have kids of her own, go to prom and have her heart broken by some stupid teenage boy, wouldn't be there to pick her up when she got too drunk at a friend's, and he wouldn't be there to stay up all night to pick her up after a concert with her friends, and he wouldn't ever walk her down the aisle. And she would be hurt, and it was his fault. His lip wobbled and it hurt to breathe, and he keened, high pitched and painful, and dug his hands into his eyes and hunched his shoulders. Then he went to his knees, so he wouldn't tumble forwards accidentally, and he sobbed. Ugly things, heavy sobs that left him gagging and gasping, and when had everything gone so wrong? Or had anything ever gone right?

He wipes his nose on the back of his hand. He stands up, his body shaking like a leaf. If someone was going to pull the trigger on his life, it would be himself to shoot him down, on his own terms. He would just have to hope that Daisy forgave him. 

He wipes his eyes and swallowed down the sobs in the back of his throat. He looks down. The tide was in. Maybe his body would get carried away. His heart pounds. He's utterly terrified. He wants his daughter in the way that a child should want their parent in times of pain and stress. 

He forces himself to breathe, sobs, bites his lip, then breathes again. He turns around and looked across the twinkling lights of Broadchurch, all the houses, the pubs and restaurants, car lights. He turns around, putting his back to the town, as if forcing the town and the people to shun him. 

He looks down at the waves. Rough, merciless, dark and dizzying. He hangs a foot over the edge, leans forwards, and pushes off with the other.

The last thing he hears is water. Crashing waves. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate ending where Ellie finds Alec.

She's just got her second pint when Beth texts her to say that Fred's sick. It makes her stomach twist for her son, and although she also feels bad for leaving the pub early, her son comes first. She says her goodbyes to her co-workers and pulls her jacket on. She's not irresponsible enough to drive, and so she resigns herself to walking despite the chill in the air. It should only take her fifteen minutes to get home anyway.

She stuffs her hands into her pockets and tells Beth she'll be home soon, and she walks down the street.

The pub's near the foot of the cliffs. She thinks that she simultaneously loves and hates the cliffs. They can be beautiful at times, and they're what Broadchurch is famous for, but she doesn't think she'll ever be able to look at them without seeing Danny's body beneath them, small and weak. She throws a tentative glance to the cliffs now, the trail leading up to the top of them, and then she looks back down to her feet. Then she stops and looks back up, breath stolen from her lungs.

There's someone on the top of them. A dark, tall silhouette standing only a foot or two from the edge, hunched in on themselves. She thinks she can see their shoulders shake, and then they take a step back as their crying increases, and they drop to their knees, and part of her tells her to look away, to keep walking home and go see Fred, hug him until he falls asleep and then tuck herself into bed and forget about the person on the cliffs. But then she imagines herself waking up, pouring herself some tea while she waits for her sons to wake up, and she'll sit in the living room in her pyjamas with a piece of toast hanging from her teeth, and she'll turn the television on. It'll turn automatically to the news, and it'll be of a warded off area of a beach, someone reporting a body found, crushed at the bottom.

Ellie runs. Her feet pound the grass, her heart beating furiously behind her ribcage. They stand up, and the man, because she can see the person better now, and it's a tall, skinny man, wipes his nose and his eyes. He takes a step closer to the edge, and she knows that he's going to jump. She knows he isn't just stargazing, not just watching the waves innocently. A sign a few feet behind him details the unstableness of the cliff. 

"Wait!" Ellie cries out, stumbling over her feet in her rush to get to him, but not too close. She's never had to do this - never had to face someone in a moment like this, never had to deal with someone in enough pain to consider suicide, let alone act on it as this man obviously intends. She fears that her own presence is enough to make him jump. 

The man startles and whirls around, and in the darkness Ellie's confronted with Alec Hardy's tear stained, red-cheeked face.

She isn't sure who's more shocked. Alec looks like a deer caught in headlights, frozen dangerously on the edge of the cliff, and Ellie fears that a breeze will come and he'll lose his balance. And she thinks, for a moment, that her mind's playing tricks on her. This isn't her boss, the stubborn, emotionless bastard, standing an inch from his self inflicted death, caught only moments before he could act. This isn't Hardy, the bastard who stole her job from her, who was too stubborn for death even when he had a heart attack during a case. But it's Alec, the man who had taken the blame directly on his shoulders for crucial evidence going missing and letting child murderers walk free, and let his daughter hate him, all so his ex-wife wouldn't suffer what he did, and he's the man that would rather risk his death so long as it was after giving Danny's family justice. 

For a moment, neither of them do a thing. He stares at her with wide eyes, and she stares back. The waves crash violently below them, Alec's to-be watery grave. Surprisingly, the first thing she thinks when she can again, is that _Alec doesn't like water. _

"Please step away from the edge, sir," she requests, and her voice shakes at first. Alec offers no response. He stands, completely frozen, and Ellie inches forwards and holds a hand out and prays that he won't make her watch him step back. "Alec, please. Don't do this. Step away from the edge, and we - we can talk."

He swallows, Adam's Apple bobbing in his throat. "Go home, Miller," he croaks, his voice raspy. 

"I'm not leaving you like this," she says, shaking her head. She reaches her hand out further. "We can talk this out." 

"There's nothing to talk about." He looks so tired. "Just go home, Ellie. Please."

She cringes at the way he says her name and she looks away, but adamantly shakes her head. There's no way she's going to leave him here. There's no way she'll turn around and walk away now. 

"You can come to mine," she blurts. She doesn't want him to. She wants to go home, hug her sons and go to sleep, and he'll be at work tomorrow, and it'll be like nothing happens. But she'd rather him come to her house rather than remain on the cliffs.

"You don't want that," Alec says with the shake of his head. Ellie bites her lip.

"What about Daisy?" She says. Alec's breath hitches and he tilts his head to the side, looking up at the cloudy sky over his head. He doesn't respond and she hopes that he doesn't cry. His lip wobbles slightly. "Just - please. Please."

His gaze turns to the waves below him, and for a moment she wonders if she's lost. That he's going to step over the edge with her watching. But then he turns around, and takes a step closer to her, away from the edge, and her shoulders slump in relief. She gestures with her hand again, and is only satisfied when he puts his own in hers, cold and pale, and she tugs him into motion, guiding him back down the trail down the cliffs. Her hand drifts from his to his back, resting there awkwardly. It's the closest they've been. 

He doesn't say anything. His eyes stay watching his feet, and she doesn't know what to say. She tries not to imagine what would have happened had she not gotten Beth's texts, had she went to the bathroom before walking home, had she not looked to the cliffs. He would be dead by now. Dead. 

What overtook him so suddenly that he decided to - to try and kill himself? She can't understand. 

They walk to hers in silence. The door's unlocked and Beth stands up to greet them, shocked when she sees Alec with Ellie. Alec doesn't acknowledge her, and Ellie doesn't acknowledge the awkwardness.

"Thanks, Beth," she says, "you can go home, I'll check on Fred."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, no problem, Ellie. No problem," Beth says. She eyes Alec, pale and cold and distant, and then shuffles around them to leave them be. The door closes and leaves them standing in her corridor alone. The television's still on in the living room, and Tom looks over to them, eyes narrowed at the tension. 

"Tom, dear, go to bed," she says.

"It's not late," Tom replies with a groan.

"Now, Tom." She's not willing to argue this with him, and he must be too unwilling to involve himself in the tension, and he gets up, eyes Alec, then disappears to his bedroom.

"I'll put the kettle on," Ellie says. "You must be freezing. Sit down."

Alec's gaze lingers on her, doe-like brown eyes, and the he nods and slinks into her living room, sitting on the couch. She takes off her coat, hangs it up, and busies herself with putting the kettle on and readying two cups of tea. When they're done, she takes them both back to Alec. He's sitting with his hands clasped, elbows on his knees, looking at the floor between his feet. 

"Two sugars, right?" She asks, drawing him from his thoughts. He nods, taking it from her hands. His shake. She sits down beside him. Imagines his face on the television when they report his body found at the bottom of the cliffs. 

"Do you... do you want to talk?" She asks. Alec's eyes roll towards her.

"Why're you doin' this?" He asks, his voice a quiet rasp. Ellie stares at him.

"I don't particularly want to see you dead," she states. 

"You'd get your job," he says. 

"I don't care about my damn job, Alec," she snaps. "Not if it's because you killed yourself."

Alec grimaces and looks away, eyes the little waves his shaking hands make in the teacup. "Why?" She asks, pleads, and Alec stares at her unblinking for a moment.

He clears his throat. "I'm not going to live much longer," he says. "M'heart. I won't survive the operation now. 'm done. I've done everything. I'm done," he says, his knuckles white. He shakes his head. Ellie doesn't know what to say.

"That's no reason to give up," she eventually says. "Just because you've left the operation for so long. At least then you've given life a second chance, Alec. You - you have the chance to move on, now. After - after the Latimer case, and now Sandbrook's over, and you can get your daughter back. You can start a new chapter. Give the operation a chance. At least then you have a possibility to try again, Alec." It feels weird using his name so much.

He drags his hands down his face after setting his untouched tea down. He looks at her, then, eyes all melted chocolate and round and sad. "I'm tired of it, Ellie," he tells her. "Real tired."

"I know, I know," she says, her voice soft, hesitant, wavering. She doesn't understand; not really, not in the way he's meaning. "But you still have a chance for something good, Alec. You have a chance now. A real chance. With closure and your daughter. There's a chance just waiting for you, right now."

Alec sets his jaw. His eyes look distant, watery. 

"There's a second chance out there. You just need to be open to it."

Alec turns to glance at her. His hands clasp together, white knuckled. He looks conflicted, and she lets him battle it out inside his own head. 

"Aye," he murmurs, hardly a whisper. "Maybe. Maybe."

**Author's Note:**

> Might right an alternate ending where Ellie miraculously finds him, but right now that isn't the point of the fic.
> 
> Reupload because the format got fucked.


End file.
